


A Thoughtful Gift (Day 6)

by chasingriver



Series: 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge - Mycroft/Sherlock [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Corsetry, High Heels, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Stiletto Heels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/pseuds/chasingriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock buys Mycroft an unexpected birthday present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thoughtful Gift (Day 6)

**Author's Note:**

> This is Day 6 of 'ChasingRiver's 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge': "Corsets"
> 
> Beta: deklava
> 
> Warnings: sibling incest
> 
> For DeathByGatiss, who really wanted Mycroft in a corset.

"Is this an awkward attempt at humour, Sherlock?"

He peered over the birthday card containing the gift certificate for a custom corset. _Your attempts at provocation are certainly getting more creative_ , he thought.

"Not at all, Mycroft. I merely think your wardrobe could benefit from a little diversity."

"How so?"

"You have _seen_ your wardrobe, haven't you?"

"There's nothing wrong with my suits."

"No. You look very nice in them. You also look like you've walked out of the 19th century. And since the men in those days also wore corsets, I thought you might enjoy one."

Mycroft frowned at his brother and waited for further comment. There usually _was_ further comment, when it came to Sherlock.

"It was either that or a pair of high heels," he finally added, with a trace of sarcasm.

_Ah, there it is._

"I'm surprised at you, Sherlock. Didn't you consider the possibility of both? I believe they'd go well together."

He enjoyed the brief look of shock on his brother's face before it snapped back into a mask of boredom. "I'm sure it could be arranged."

"Lovely. Do let me know when I need to be there, and," he added without a trace of sarcasm, "thank you for such a thoughtful gift."

Sherlock gave him an awkward smile, as if not sure what to make of the entire discussion.

Once his brother had left, he sat down with a cup of tea and considered their conversation. Did the gift stem from some desire on Sherlock's part, or was it simple provocation? Sherlock's relative inexperience made the former unlikely, unless he'd discovered some of the more creative parts of the internet. Provocation seemed to be the only motivation. He'd probably expected him to turn red and sputter something about the whole thing being completely inappropriate.

The first rule of negotiating with Sherlock was to keep him off balance.

And that's what this was, whether Sherlock realised it or not - a negotiation. One that Mycroft was willing to play to its logical conclusion. Carrying on a sparring match with his brother was similar to improvisational drama: always say 'yes'. Especially when he's expecting 'no'.

The moment he saw the gift certificate, he decided to say 'yes'; Sherlock wouldn't expect it. His second thought had been 'Why not?' It seemed like it could be interesting. He'd never done it before.

Mycroft had grown up entirely too fast in some respects. He'd turned thirty-five on the day of his twenty-first birthday. He never participated in university bashes or the endless nights of stag parties; getting pissed and dressing in drag. He wasn't particularly fond of heavy drinking, and he certainly didn't want fodder for the tabloids, which would either embarrass Mummy or sabotage his career. Or both.

When Sherlock had sarcastically suggested the heels, he'd been equally pragmatic. His legs were lightly muscled and toned; certainly nothing to be ashamed of. A pair of heels would accentuate them nicely. Just because he'd never considered the option didn't mean he was averse to the idea. After all, if he planned to have a corset made, it barely seemed like a stretch, fashion-wise.

By entertaining the idea, Sherlock's joke at his expense had been effectively neutralised. _At worst, I'll end up with an interesting experience. At best? Who knows. Possibly a new kink._

Mycroft rang the doorbell at a well-kept but otherwise unassuming brick townhouse in Camden.

A slender brunette, dressed conservatively in a tailored shirt and trousers, answered the door.

"Mr Holmes, Mr Holmes," she nodded in greeting to both of them. "I'm Ms McLayne. Please do come in."

She led them into a sitting area containing, at its centre, a large rectangular table about waist height. The glass top revealed several different types of corsets laying on black velvet just beneath its surface.

Mycroft glanced at them and realised the 'table' was more accurately a large flat file, with four more deep drawers stacked beneath the 'display' drawer.

"Please, have a seat," she said, gesturing towards a sofa and two chairs. "May I get you something to drink?"

"Tea would be lovely, thank you. Milk, one sugar."

"Nothing for me," replied Sherlock.

"I'll be back in a moment. Please feel free to browse the book or the samples." She nodded towards the large table.

They wandered over and peered through the glass at the corsets. Most were constructed from richly pattered silk brocade in jewel tones. They seemed to be evenly divided between the traditionally female, over-bust styles, and under-bust styles more appropriate for men.

"These are quite lovely," Mycroft murmured in appreciation. He pulled out the drawer and ran his fingers across a burgundy one with a cream filigree pattern. "Not unlike a nice tie."

Sherlock raised his brows in an odd mixture of boredom and mild amusement. "I'm surprised to see you so enthusiastic, Mycroft."

"Really? You mean you deliberately got me a gift you thought I wouldn't enjoy?" he retorted, with no small amount of satisfaction.

Sherlock studied the corsets intently, in lieu of an answer. Mycroft smirked.

Ms McLayne returned with some tea and biscuits and explained the process to them. Once Mycroft had selected a style and fabric for the corset, she'd take extensive measurements. If he was similar in size to any of their ready-to-wear styles, he could try them on to get a feel for the cut and shape of the design.

"Most men choose the underbust style," she said, "although the overbust style can also be tailored with a flat chest that simply rises higher in the front."

"I think I'd be most interested in the underbust style," Mycroft replied. "More of a waist cincher." He'd done his research online before they'd come. It wouldn't do to be unprepared.

"Very good. We have some fabrics that are particularly popular with many of our male clients; wool blends in pinstripes. The effect is not unlike a nice suit."

"Hm," Mycroft mused, "thank you, but I think I'd prefer one of the silk brocade ones."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Very good," she said, and proceeded to open a different drawer containing more examples of waist cinchers. "This model is very popular. It's cut rather high at the bottom, which allows it to be worn comfortably under clothing."

"A useful feature, I'm sure," Mycroft replied. _And one I doubt will be necessary_ , he thought.

He selected a style that allowed for maximum flexibility. He wanted to be able to fuck Sherlock senseless while wearing it, after all.

"Now, as far as fabric choices…" she started, and retrieved a book full of samples. It contained everything from jewel toned silks and satins to understated cotton prints and wool suiting material.

Mycroft smiled, and almost immediately settled on two; a royal blue silk, and a matching blue silk brocade with a delicate, spider chrysanthemum design executed in a shimmering silver.

"I'd like the patterned fabric as an inset surrounding the busk and the lacing, with the solid blue at the sides."

"Of course, sir. I think that will look lovely."

Mycroft wondered if Sherlock had any idea of the significance behind his choice. The fabric was stunning, of course, but the chrysanthemum symbolised imperialism and also held connotations of male homosexuality. He smiled at the thought. _Sherlock probably has no idea. Even if he once did, it doesn't seem like something he'd bother to keep in his mind palace._

She took him back to a separate area where she took his measurements. Sherlock watched with a look of faint amusement.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir," she said, apologetically, "but we don't have anything here that will fit you at the moment. I have something close, but it would be too large, even tightly laced. But I can assure you the finished corset will fit properly."

 _That's perfect_ , Mycroft thought. _The less Sherlock sees now, the greater the effect will be later._ "Of course that's not a problem," he replied. "When should I expect it to be complete?"

"Between two and three weeks, sir."

_Plenty of time._

After they'd left, Sherlock asked him about getting the heels.

"Don't worry; I'll take care of it," he replied. He already had plans.

He phoned Ms McLayne once he got home and asked that discrete loops be added to the base of the corset with which to attach garters. Then he arranged for a private consultation with a discreet supplier of men's shoes and lingerie. This time, the visit would be _without_ Sherlock.

A week later, he was pleasantly surprised by a phone call from Ms McLayne. Somehow they'd managed to finish his corset early. Perhaps it was the small 'gratuity' he'd offered when he'd phoned back about the garters. He did want to surprise Sherlock, after all. His brother wasn't expecting him to make his grand presentation for another week, at least.

He came home from work on Friday, eager to try on the whole ensemble. He'd picked up the corset that afternoon, and he'd been half-hard the entire ride home.

He laid the box containing the corset on the bed and retrieved the other items from his cupboard. The shoes, stockings and garters, and panties each rested in their own box, carefully packed in tissue paper. He'd gotten more than one pair of the panties. It seemed like a second pair might be _necessary_.

He surveyed the boxes and then took a deep, anticipatory breath before he removed the items. He licked his lips, and his heart thudded in his chest as he removed the corset from its box. It was stunning. It was _exactly_ what he'd hoped.

He stripped off his clothes, forcing himself to take his time and fold them neatly on the bed.

Then he removed the rest of the items from their boxes.

He slid his foot into one of the cream-coloured silk stockings and smoothed it over his calf and towards his groin. He sucked in a breath when his fingers graced the inside of his thighs as he pulled the stocking into place. The elaborate lace top fit perfectly around his thigh and the plain silk highlighted the well-defined muscles of his legs.

The light curly hair of his legs was slightly visible if you looked hard enough, but he didn't mind. The object here was not femininity. It was power.

He put on the second stocking as slowly and carefully as the first, and then attached the matching silk garters. They temporarily fluttered uselessly around his thighs.

The panties were next. Silk, _of course._ They were cut in a fairly modest bikini shape that skimmed low across his hips; their delicate cream perfectly matched the hue of the stockings. He stood as he pulled them over his legs and eased them into place. They covered and contained his cock - in this state, at least; he wasn't completely hard. With a full erection, it would be impossible. He smiled to himself. _Somehow, I don't think that will matter._

He removed the corset from its tissue-paper nest. _Stunning._ The smooth, dark-blue silk contrasted beautifully with the embellished sections, just as he'd hoped. And the softness of the fabric balanced the magnificent solidity of the steel boning. He loosened the laces and unhooked the five posts of the busk, then he wrapped the exquisite silk armour around his waist.

He pulled the laces snug, then he clipped the bottom post of the busk into its slot and used it as a pivot to lock the other four into place.

He stood in front of the full-length mirror as he prepared to lace the corset. In theory, it was easy - work first from the top, and then from the bottom, pulling each section of the lace snug while moving the slack closer to the centre. But in practice, it was far from simple. The lacing segments were difficult to differentiate in the mirror, and by the time he'd finished, both of his shoulders had started to ache from reaching behind his back for so long and twisting to see what he was doing.

It was awkward, doing this alone. It was possible, certainly, but it would be much easier with two people.

Two people.

If this went as he hoped, Sherlock would _beg_ to assist him in the future. _And isn't that a lovely thought,_ he smiled. It made him forget all about the mild ache in his shoulders.

When he'd finished, he had two long loops of laces. He repositioned the corset one last time, making sure it was fitted properly around his waist. Then, very slowly, he pulled the laces tight.

The corset exerted pressure from all sides. Surrounding him. Gripping him. He felt unexpectedly comforted by it. As he continued to tighten the laces ( _Not too tight at first_ , she'd told him), his body began to transform. Straight lines became subtle curves. His breathing, while unhindered, was more focused. The corset forced his posture into a more commanding pose and pressed against his lower ribs in a surprisingly pleasing manner. He tightened it a little further, and marvelled at the newfound shape of his waist. Then he tied the laces into a bow and stood back to take a look.

The blue silk was stunning against his skin, and he smoothed his hands over it. His skin lit up like a trail of fireworks beneath his touch. Even the lightest brush of his fingertips made his skin tingle. He ran his fingers down the steel boning; he felt nothing along their length - the metal didn't magnify (or even transmit) his touch like the fabric did - but they exuded a quiet strength.

It was beautiful, and powerful, and it made his own body feel almost alien. He could see now why people did this; it was an intoxicating combination of body modification and self-bondage. And he loved it.

He hadn't been this aware of his body since puberty.

He took a dangling garter and attached it to the corset. Then, realising his mistake, he laughed, unhooked it, and threaded it beneath the silk panties first. _That would have been disastrous._ He repeated the process with the rest of them; the garters pulled the stockings up into peaks on either side of his leg. _Lovely._

He was achingly, almost unbearably hard. He had been since he'd finished lacing the corset. The panties were nowhere near roomy enough now. His cock was full and heavy against his pelvis, and the deep-red head of it jutted out from the top of the cream silk panties.

He willed his mind to ignore his lust temporarily. There was one more thing. He returned to the bed and removed the matching cream-coloured heels from their box; closed-toe three-inch d'Orsay stilettos. He crouched and placed them carefully on the floor. Bending over _was_ possible - the corset didn't completely preclude it - but it was not the most comfortable position in the world, and certainly not with an erection.

He gingerly stepped into them and fought the immediate inclination to pitch forward. _Bloody hell._ Standing up straight, he assessed their impact on his body. They tipped his pelvis upward and strained new and interesting muscles in his thighs, and there was a great deal of pressure on the balls of his feet. His toes, normally uninvolved in maintaining his balance, took a sudden, necessary interest in the proceedings. He took a few hesitant steps. They were surprisingly stable.

 _And they'll give me another three inches on Sherlock_ ,he thought _._ The height difference could potentially irritate his brother, but he suspected it would once again trigger the submissive tendencies he'd shown the other day.

He walked towards the mirror and noted how differently his body moved. Almost sinuously. His hips swayed when he walked. It was… _different. Powerful and different._

Sherlock had started this little game. A corset; high heels. _Calculated to embarrass me_. He strode back across the room, more sure of his footing now, in more than one sense. _It doesn't feel embarrassing in the least._ His face lit up as he realised he had the perfect accessory. After crouching (very carefully) to retrieve it, he surveyed his image in the mirror once more. _Perfect._ The riding crop would leave no doubt in Sherlock's mind as to which role he would take in this little game.

The creamy, freckled skin of his chest had flushed pink with arousal. _Is it the corset? The idea of Sherlock's submission?_ The heels and lingerie were nice additions, but it was the other two things that really made his gut throb. He dropped the riding crop to the floor and ran both hands down his sides and across his bound abdomen. He gave himself over to the heightened sensations of his own touch and realised he couldn't deny himself any longer.

He leaned back against the bedroom wall, dug his stiletto heels into the plush carpet, and _(God, finally)_ slid his hand beneath the delicate silk of the panties. He gasped as he touched his hot skin, but the corset pressed back against him, reminding him that he no longer had complete control over his own body. His fingers closed around his painfully hard cock, and he moaned as he started to slowly fuck his palm. Sighing, he ran his thumb across the head, slick with pre-ejaculate, and pressed the pad of his thumb against the slit. He rubbed small circles there, teasing himself for as long as he could stand it before stroking himself firmly back down to his base. The sweet friction sent pleasure running down his spine, and he threw his head back against the wall. His breath came in short gasps now, and his hand moved faster, almost of its own volition. He thrust his other hand down into the silk panties and massaged his balls, already tight and hard against him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this turned on while he was alone.

He paused just long enough to shove the underwear onto his thighs and stroked himself harder. His mind filled with images of Sherlock on his knees, begging to help lace the corset. _Begging for a taste of my cock._ And it was that thought that sent him over the edge. As the blinding rush of orgasm tore through him, vision whiting out at the edges, his only thought was ' _Don't get any on the corset.'_

He would have collapsed against the wall in exhaustion if the corset had permitted it. As it was, he could only lean against it in a well-postured slump.

He laughed out loud.

Sherlock had unwittingly bought him a new kink for his birthday.

* * *

_Continued on[Day 8](http://archiveofourown.org/works/655199)_


End file.
